


Battle plans

by Blondini_the_new_Houdini



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Gerard Argent Being an Asshole, Hurt Stiles, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Season/Series 02, Unintentionally, Warning: Gerard Argent, because I said so, just starting out magical stiles, so will sterek, will be explored more in future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 11:30:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19250314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blondini_the_new_Houdini/pseuds/Blondini_the_new_Houdini
Summary: “You have a knack for creating a vivid picture Mr Stilinski…let me paint you one of my own.”Gerard moved towards Stiles stopping only a foot away. “Scott McCall finds his friend beaten and bloodied to a pulp, how does that sound?” he asked.Stiles swallowed,“I think might prefer more of a still life or landscape you know.”





	Battle plans

**Author's Note:**

> This picks up right in the middle of Gerard and Stiles in the basement in Season 2 episode 12.
> 
> There isn't really any graphic violence, only the tiniest bit of blood, but I want to be safe. 
> 
> I have wanted to write something for this scene for a long time, enjoy!
> 
> Sorry if the formatting is off, I couldn't seem to fix it.

“You have a knack for creating a vivid picture Mr Stilinski…let me paint you one of my own.” 

Gerard moved towards Stiles stopping only a foot away. “Scott McCall finds his friend beaten and bloodied to a pulp, how does that sound?” he asked.

Stiles swallowed, “I think I might prefer more of a still life or landscape you know.”

A muscle in Gerard's jaw twitched, Stiles eyes flicked towards it. He knew Gerard was going to hurt him soon, there was no stopping him, may as well go out with a bang.

He looked the old bastard up and down, “look, what are you 90? I could probably kick your ass up and down this room fo-.“ 

He didn't see the fist before it connected, white hot pain burst in his jaw as he hit the ground. A fist gathered in his jersey before he could get his bearings, pulling him up to face Gerard. 

Shit! This was not looking good. 

“Okay, look wait, wait, ” he panted, trying to reason with him, knowing it was futile.

Another fist threw his head to the side. 

Then another.

“Okay look, look hey!” 

 This punch was twice as hard this time, leaving his ears ringing.

 Gerard kept going, hitting him over and over and over again. 

Stiles felt delirious with pain, and certain he had a concussion. Blood trickled down his lip from where it split, tickling his chin.

“Hey look,“ he slurred, he couldn't get his tongue to work. 

Gerard threw him to ground again, standing back to catch his breath.  

“Do not test me Mr Stilinski, you will fail,” he said before turning away.  

Stiles breathed a small sigh of relief thinking he was heading for the stairs. Only for Gerard to stop and turn towards the table with the voltage box on it. 

He watched, eyes wide in horror, as Gerard picked up what looked like a police baton, except this one was sparking. The low hum of electricity grew into a loud buzzing as Gerard stalked towards him. 

Stiles scrambled backwards on his hands as best he could until he felt the cold brick of the wall on his back.

“No please don’t,” he begged. Eyes stinging as he blinked back tears, but Gerard didn’t stop moving. 

Panic started to consume him, air was becoming difficult, his hands were shaking. It felt like a vice was gripping his chest, he didn't know what to do, he couldn't talk his way out of this one. 

He tried one more time, “please no.”

But it was too late.

The pain was all-consuming. 

His mind went blank. Every muscle in his body contracting so much he thought they were going to rip apart. Spittle flew from his mouth as his throat constricted. His body spasmed, as electricity coursed through him. It went on for what felt like forever, he couldn’t breathe, he was choking.

He was going to die.  

All at once, the pain vanished, his muscles releasing as Gerard relented. He sucked in big gulps of air; strings of saliva fell from his lips, tremors racked his body.  

Thank god.

He barley had time to catch his breath before it started again. He thought his heart was going to give out. No human body could withstand this amount of pain.  

“Any other pictures you'd like to paint for me Mr Stilinski?” Gerard sneered. 

He wanted it to stop. He knew he couldn't hold out much longer; he had to get out of here. Had to get Erica and Boyd out of this miserable place. Couldn't let them die along with him. 

He moaned in pain at the thought of leaving his dad behind, all alone. He couldn't do that to him. He wouldn't. 

A fire started burning in his chest that wasn't electricity. 

It built until it felt like he was going to combust. The fire spread throughout his body filling every fibre of his being, he was going to burn alive if he didn't get it out. 

He yelled in pain, as it arched through him, he couldn't hold it anymore; it was too much.  

It was like a switch flipped in his brain. 

“ENOUGH!” he screamed with all his might.

Everything went silent for a moment, like the room was holding its breath.

It was like a bomb going off. 

Blinding white light burst out of him like a supernova, shattering what felt like every atom in his body.

A shout of pain drew his attention and he opened his eyes in time to see Gerard blown backwards. Hitting the wall opposite him so hard he slumped to the ground unconscious.

When the light eventually died down, he became aware of the horrible screaming. It took him a moment to realise it was coming from him. He couldn't stop no matter how hard he tried, darkness lingered at the corners of his eyes, the pain was too much.  

He didn't know how much time had passed when awareness came back to him. His screaming had stopped, small gasps filling the room instead. His throat felt raw, like he’d swallowed a dozen razor blades. Every muscle, every bone in his body ached as he unfurled from the ball he didn't remember curling into.  

Drenched in sweat, he pushed himself, into a seated position, slumping against the wall to catch his breath.  

He looked over at Erica and Boyd who were staring at him with wide eyes. He raised his eyebrows in surprise when he saw they weren't hurt in the blast.. 

“Didn’t see that coming,” he panted.  

He looked over at Gerard still slumped against the wall. 

“Is he dead?” he asked the werewolves. 

Both heads shook from side to side. 

“We need to get out of here, can you guys free yourselves?” 

This time a whimper, which he took as a no.

The table next to them was on its side, knocked over in the blast. The electricity was off, but it seemed that the werewolf healing hadn't kicked in yet. The damage too much for them to heal from at the moment. 

“Okay, give me a sec, and I’ll get you guys down.” 

He struggled to push himself higher up the wall until he was sitting completely upright. He bent his unsteady legs under him and heaved his body into a standing position, using the wall as a crutch.

“Alright let’s do this.” 

He wobbled his way over to the betas, steading himself on Boyd’s chest as he removed the masking tape from his mouth. He fumbled for a few minutes with the restraints before they came free, Boyd’s arms coming down to grip his biceps. 

“Thank you,” he said. 

Stiles gave him a small nod, “get Erica down.” 

Boyd moved to do so, catching her in his arms when he freed her. While Stiles blinked black spots from his vision, battling to stay upright.  

Once he saw that they were both steady he moved, “lets get out of here before he wakes up. 

They hurried towards the staircase, taking them as quietly as they could. Before they could reach the top of the stairs though, the door swung open to reveal Chris Argen 

Stiles heart stopped in his chest.  

His hand flew out to stop the betas, smacking Boyd in the chest. Apologising in his head before remembering they were werewolves.  

It was like a Mexican Stand off. 

No one moved for a moment before Chris stepped aside, holding the door open for them. Stiles stepped forward, keeping the other two behind him and away from Chris as best he could. He thought he saw concern on Chris' face, regret even as they shuffled past, but he didn’t have time to dwell on that. They needed to get out of the house as soon as possible.  

He ushered the betas out into the hall and towards the door, moving to follow, when Chris spoke, “I’m sorry,” he said.  

“I’m sorry that he did this to you. I won’t let it happen again.” 

Stiles looked back at him.  

He held his gaze for a few seconds before saying in a quiet voice, “see that you do, so that I don’t have to kill him myself.”  

Chris nodded. 

Erica and Boyd were waiting at the door for him, so he headed towards them, body aching. 

It didn't seem real passing through the doorway and out into the cold night. Not even minutes ago he was sure they were all going to die down there in the basement of the Argent house. Now they were walking out the front door like regular house guests. 

 

Hysterical laughter bubbled in his throat, turning into a cough at the pain. He stumbled down the steps, almost face planting if Erica hadn’t caught him. 

“That was amazing Stiles, how did you do that?” She asked grabbing his arm to help him walk.  

His body felt so weak from whatever it was that had happened in the basement. He ached down to his very core. He was so exhausted he had trouble keeping his eyes open. He didn't know how he was going to make it home, he had no phone.  

“I don’t know,” was all he could muster. 

Blinking heavily, he told them to get to Derek's as soon as they could. 

He started down the driveway, pausing when he realised the betas were following him.  

"What are you doing?" he questioned, unsure at this turn of events. 

"Making sure you get home," Erica stated like he was stupid. 

"You look like crap Stiles. It's the least we can do," said Boyd. 

Stiles observed them both, noting their torn bloody clothes, Erica's messy hair. Didn't they want to go home? 

He didn't have it in him to argue tonight. 

"Okay whatever," he mumbled. 

It took them over an hour to get to his place, having to stop periodically so Stiles could catch his breath.  

When his house came into view, Stiles could have sobbed in relief. All the windows were lit up, the lights still on despite the late hour.  

“He’s worried about you,” said Boyd, “he’s on the phone putting out an APB.” 

Stiles huffed a wet laugh, “yeah that sounds about right.” 

He turned to the two werewolves beside him, “thank you for helping me get home.” 

“Thank you for saving us.” Erica replied, Boyd just nodded gratefully.

“Go to Derek,” he told them, “recover, be safe, I’ll see you around I guess.”

They nodded and then left, only looking back once.  

Stiles watched them walk away. He made sure they were around the corner of the street before heading for the door. Pain throbbed through his body with a vengeance. 

He made his was up the steps to the front door, hand shaking as he rung the bell.  Footsteps rushed to the door before it flung open, “Stiles?!”

He fell into his dads arms.  

A few tears spilled over his cheeks as he finally let himself feel safe, wrapped securely in his dads arms. 

A long time passed before his dad let him go, pulling back to take a look at him. 

“What the hell happened Stiles? Who did this to you?” he demanded, hand grabbing his chin,  turning his head  to observe the injury on his cheek in the light. 

“It was some kids from the other team,” he muttered. 

“I’m going to pistol whip those little bastards,” his dad spat, enraged and on the war path. “Tell me their names I’m going to go down to their school, and I’m gunna-“ 

“Dad! I’m okay, I was mouthing off, you know how I get. I’m just tired I swear.” 

His dad scrutinised him for a second before pulling him into another fierce hug. His grip jostling Stiles' poor body even more, but he didn't care.  

“Jesus kid, you scared the hell out of me.” 

“I’m sorry dad.” 

He could feel himself losing his battle with consciousness. The exhaustion was too much, and he sagged into his dads arms, the events of the evening catching up with him. He let his head rest on his dads shoulder.  

“Its okay Stiles, its not your fault, you didn't do anything wrong…Stiles?” his dad shook him. 

“Stiles!” was the last thing he heard before oblivion took him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> So, hopefully you enjoyed that, Thank you so much for reading if you did. I have been a member of this fandom for a number of years but this is the first thing I have EVER written for it and posted.
> 
> I've had this in my head for years and never knew how to articulate it on paper. This was a little excerpt of what may be a series, I'm still thinking about it. Let me know if you would like it to continue. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much for reading, and leaving a kudos or comment if you did, if not thats cool too, they make an aspiring writers day.
> 
> Thanks guys xx


End file.
